


Composition of a Question

by KateSmithNoble



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Italian Food, M/M, Music, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock's Violin, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateSmithNoble/pseuds/KateSmithNoble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>..John is distracted very easily by his flatmate. Their encouter with Irene Adler left him thinking, craving and fantasising about Sherlock. One dinner and one piece of music will change the situation between the young consulting detective and the army doctor..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Composition of a Question

**Author's Note:**

> Set after “Scandal in Belgravia”/ Rating Explicit / Johnlock / Slash / Fluff / Smut  
> English is my second (well third) language. Have fun ;)

 

"The Ice Man & The Virgin?"  
"Yes...this is what Moriarty called Mycroft and I. A little bit fanciless if you ask me..  
Now, can you pass me the book, please?" answered Sherlock, who was swirling the spoon inside his cup to cool down his tea.  
John gave him the really heavy chemistry book and sat down in the opposite armchair.  
The detective opened it on a page, which looked like to be the seven-hundredth of the thousand pages.  
 _'This man knows everything written in the past chapters, but the simple fact, that the earth is revolving around the sun is too much for this silly head'_ the army doctor smiled thinking this and, with a sigh, he opened the newspaper.  
  
Occasionally Sherlock took a little sip from the tea, testing its temperature.  
It was really distracting.  
Every time his flatmate did it, John couldn't concentrate on the text anymore.  
He just watched the slow precise movement of these heart shaped, full lips.  
The lower lip disappearing behind the edge of the cup and upper one stretching to let the hot liquid towards the waiting tongue.  
The muscles of his throat batching while swallowing it.  
 _'God have mercy'_ thought John, when it happened for the fifth time. He had to force himself to look away, after Sherlock pulled away the cup and his lip stuck to the porcelain for a second.  
The flesh went with the motion of it and snapped back, leaving the lips a tiny bit pinker.  
The older man cleared his throat, getting up to escape the hypnotising view.  
He opened his laptop to answer some fan post on his blog.  
Unfortunately he still couldn't focus on the words before him.

 _'This is ridiculous. Moriarty, Mycroft, and practically everyone is laughing at him for not being sexually active._  
The maniac already used his lower understanding against him. It's one of his very few weaknesses.  
It's probably the only one he doesn't really acknowledge as one.  
Sherlock Holmes is always thinking rationally, but still is never emotionless.  
He rarely loses control about his feelings in good or bad way. Sometimes I just hate him for pretending not to care about anyone, and anything.  
If one considers that he never had sex with everyone...  
Sexual frustration hits almost everyone and the logic reaction is having sex with someone or yourself.  
I wonder...' thought John, starring at the computer. A picture flashed up in his mind:

**Sherlock leaned back against the mirror in their small bathroom, cheeks flushed, eyes slightly shut, back arched, pressing his throbbing member into his own hand. The long violinist fingers moving around it.   
Up and down.   
The lips parting and vibrating under a sharp exhale .   
The biceps contracting and relaxing in a fastening pace...**

"John if you're starring any longer on the screen, I will be concerned if you're not having a stroke"  
 _'Thanks God for his timing'_ -"Yeah, thank you, no..I'm alright. I just don't want to disappoint our fans with a spontaneous respond. "  
"I still don't understand why they read your blog and not mine...you're describing everything so flatly.  
The facts, the small hints are important. Your version is like a fairytale."  
"Thanks Sherlock, but this is the way you get your clients."  
"Obviously, because 80% of them are not worth my time."  
"We are not having this discussion again"  
John closed the laptop again, got up and headed straight for his room.

When he shot the door behind him he sighted and pressed his forehead to the wooden door.  
This was dangerous and it happened often in the last weeks.  
Small erotic pictures shooting into his mind. The army doctor took a deep breath and looked down to the bulge in his trousers.  
It was driving him crazy. He had to do something about it soon, but now he needed a cold shower..a very cold one.

The army doctor got swiftly out of his room again and entered the small bathroom. It was tiny there.  
John undressed, turned the water to freezing cold, stepped under the stream and gasped when the icy water touched his skin.  
Tipping his head back he let the cooling sensation running through his entire body, returning the blood where it should be.  
The water was soothing, but too cold now, so he switched it to a normal temperature. He felt his muscles relaxing and let his thoughts ran free.  
 _'For god's sake. This is Sherlock. I shouldn't think about him like that. I'm not even into men...Ok maybe a little bit I am. It's hard not to be considering how we dealt with stress, and loneliness in the army.'_ he smirked, remembering various comrades giving him the best blowjobs in his life and himself returning the favour in the same way.  
He liked the roughness with which they've treated him.  
 _'Yes this has been lovely, possibly the only positive memories from my serving time. Still it is wrong..because of the simple fact that IT IS SHERLOCK._  
He seems asexual, tactless, selfish and bigheaded. On the other hand he's brilliant, in his own special way cares about me, Mrs. Hudson and some other...oh and he's the best looking person I've ever met.'  
He put shampoo in his hands, rubbed it few times between his palms and started to wash his short hair.  
John kept it short even after he came back from Afghan. It is just handy, but one doesn't feel much by running the fingers through it.  
This was one thing he loved about women. Their lovely long hair smoothly floating through his fingers.  
Just for a second he imagined doing it with the black hair of his flatmate.  
As always with his fantasies he loved this idea.

When he stepped out of the shower several minutes later, he decided to test the detective.  
John bound a white towel around his hips, leaving his hair and torso wet, and walked out of the bathroom.  
Returning to the living room, he grinned to himself before passing the door frame, but put a serious face on when he actually entered the room.  
Sherlock, who was now sitting on the sofa, looked up from his book and let his surprised gaze trace from feet to the wet hair of his friend.  
Usually it was him running around half naked, wrapped in a bed sheet. (another thing that didn't really help John to concentrate on anything else he was about to do)  
"Have you seen my red jumper? I can't find it."  
"On the armchair."  
"Thanks"  
The army doctor crossed the room. He almost could feel the detective's look on his back, when he bend down and stretched for the woolly jumper. John straightened up, walked to the stairs and didn't look back.  
Closing the door he chuckled and started to dress.  
When he was buttoning up his red shirt, the door opened. John paused in his movements and turned his head to see the detective leaning in the door frame.  
"You should really knock, Sherlock. Not just come in. Where are your manners."  
"Why? You know it's me, so I don't see the point in it." answered Sherlock and stepped into the room.  
"It's called privacy. You know I could be naked or doing something private."  
"Like I wouldn't know beforehand..You're behaving really obvious, John."  
"What the...ok whatever...is there a reason why you're in my room?"  
"I've finished my book. Want to go out for dinner?"  
The doctor frowned a little bit: "You hardly eat something anytime we go out."  
"But you do and I am bored. I've been sitting around for too long."  
"Yeah it must have been years since you finished the heavy chemistry book...Wait no..it must have been 5 minutes." smirked John, finished buttoning his shirt and grabbed his jacket. "Ok let's have dinner."  
He could have passed around Sherlock without a problem within a meter distance, but he didn't.  
Inches away from the detective's body he slipped around him, absolutely accidently brushing his arm against Sherlock's side.  
As if he didn't noticed, John stormed down the stairs, smiled to himself and stepped out on the street.

He breathed in deeply.  
It was raining and he loved this smell.  
In Afghan, there was no smell, just the dry hot air burning in his lungs, sand scratching in his throat and sometimes the metallic smell of blood.  
Ripped flesh slick with it and it's consuming heat around his hands, when he tried to restart the heart of his friend.  
He had felt the gentle resistance of the organ, while pressing it. He hadn't felt any moving of the lungs..None at all....  
"John?.." the soldier shook his head, mentally returned to the wonderful rainy London. He turned around and looked into these blue green eyes, now full of concern.  
"You started shaking.." said the tall man.  
"Just remembered something." He didn't need to say more. Sherlock always knows.  
 _'Calm down you idiot...this is London...It's raining and it's over...'_ he inhaled the wet becalming air and asked:  
"So where are we going to eat?"  
Sherlock observed him for a second searching for any sign of an attack. When he didn't find one he answered: "Angelo's of course."  
"Of course" _'For a brilliant man, he surely has a lot of habits'_

The lovely small restaurant was just around the corner and practically everything was delicious.  
It's a freaking stereotype, but Angelo's old mother was the main chef. A loud woman.  
She always shouted for him so that the whole restaurant could hear her and laugh heartily.  
They entered and the expected "SHEEERLOOOCK", came from the bar, " and Dr. Watson again. Here..your table is waiting."  
"Thank you Angelo." answered Sherlock and sat down facing the room as usually. Angelo took away the RESERVED sign and buggered off to get their common drinks.  
"You've called or is it always reserved for you? Just in case the great detective and Angelo's saviour, Sherlock Holmes would decide to eat here. Oh no wait... Watch me eat?" sneered John and opened the menu, which he already knew inside out.  
"Of course I called."  
"I have been always with you, since you asked me."  
"I called beforehand. You never decline, John."  
"I do sometimes."  
"Only if you have a date or an evening spend with your girlfriend. You didn't look like going out and you haven't had a girlfriend since Christmas."  
 _'Oh THIS he had noticed...Interesting'_ -"Yeah thank you very much for reminding me. It's entirely you fault by the way. They always listen to these stupid rumours about us and you're not helping by not denying them." accused him the army doctor, closed the card and put it on the side of the table.  
"You're wrong John..." said Sherlock and grabbed the menu from the desk, "I am not just going to watch you eat, I will eat myself...No case remember?"  
Watson lifted his eyebrows and watched his flatmate calling out loud "Boring!" for almost every meal he's read. Two minutes later he sighted and closed it again.  
Angelo appeared with their drinks and asked if they've chosen already.  
"The usual" answered John, gaining an unsurprised nod from the restaurant owner  
"Surprise me Angelo. Spaghetti with some creative sauce."  
"Of course Sherlock." grinned back the Italian, happy with his challenge he headed for the kitchen adding loudly: "Mama! We are going to cook a surprise."  
John started laughing until he couldn't breathe properly. Sherlock joined in, but could get hold of himself faster than John.  
"Ugh that's where all these prejudices came from: Enthusiastic, Italian, criminal, restaurant owners."  
"Obviously." answered Sherlock still with a smile on his lips.  
It froze and the detective quickly took out one of his many Moleskin notebooks, put it on the table and started to write something down. John leaned forward to get a good look on it. It was a bunch of notes.  
"You're composting? Here??" he asked disbelievingly  
"Yes. A lot of artist worked in pubs and restaurants...for example Hemingway."  
The army doctor shrugged it away, sipped on his drink and looked around the room. There were almost only couples, doing something what looked like an impression of Lady and Tramp.  
 _'God, I have to stop watching crap telly all the time.'_ He turned to his friend again and watched him scratching the music into the paper, until Angelo storm by with two plates. Baked penne with chicken pieces and parmesan sauce were for John and *the surprise* for Sherlock were spaghetti with salmon-mascarpone-lime sauce.  
"Thank you, it looks delicious." said Sherlock and Angelo just waved his hand and walked away looking really happy with himself.  
The detective started to roll on the pasta on his fork, took the first bite and ( _'deducing' by his smile_ )  it was very good.  
 _' For god's sake HOW? How can anyone look good, even attractive, eating spaghetti...Usually it turns out the opposite.'_ thought the doctor and watched the long fingers turning around the fork (but force himself not to look up..He had enough distraction for today.) .

"The music you just wrote down..I hope it is less melancholic than the few former ones. Don't get me wrong, they were beautiful, but really sad."  
"It is indeed. I will play it to you when we get home. I wrote the other ones during a case. I'm a consulting detective, John. Average people would call murder sad."  
"Oh come on you didn't  write it because of the cases! You love a complicated murder and puzzles. You wrote it because of her. Irene Adler."  
"The Woman was the puzzle to be solved, so we're both right." answered Sherlock still concentrated on his food.  
John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, opened his mouth, and closed it again. Holmes noticed it, sighted and said: " Just ask." The army doctor put down his fork.  
"It's almost a tradition don't you think...Did you never have a partner? Never ever?...I know I know..Married to your work, but not even to experiment? You try everything..why not relationships?"  
Sherlock cocked his head to the side, watching John carefully.  
"It makes you weak, assailable..The chemistry of it is very simple."  
"Moriarty just proved it otherwise to you. He used it against you and almost won. You and I both know how brilliant you are, but this psychopath will pick out every little weakness of yours...BUT..it's your private stuff. I'm just a little bit worried what this maniac will do next."  
His friend looked him in the eyes, nodded slightly and turned away again.

The door opened and the most unlikely person entered the restaurant: Anderson and his wife.  
Holmes sat up straight in his seat, frowned and, very much to his disapproval, watched the couple approaching their table.  
"Our favourite psychopath and his date. Since when do you step down from your throne and walk among us mortals?"  
"I'm not his date!"  
"Please Anderson.. I can almost feel the black hole in your head sucking out the brain cells from me. If you stay, in the end you will maybe be even intelligent.", he stood up, "Better not. John and I were already leaving. Oh and nice to meet you Mrs. Anderson. I should deliver greetings from DC. Donavan to you."  
John gasped and followed his flatmate, who just slipped around the couple, waved Angelo and left the restaurant.  
"Who's DC Donavan, darling?" heard John saying Anderson's wife.

Sherlock waited outside looking towards the sky, towards the stars, merely visible above the orange glow of the city. Hearing the door shut, the tall man turned his head, smiled slightly and began to walk home.  
John understood the puzzled face of the detective, that he shouldn't talk right then. He just listened to the sounds around him. The wheels of old London cabs screeching on the wet streets. The many spoken languages, which were so typical for a city this size. The raindrops were trickling on the roofs and on the open umbrellas. This was his London, him home.

When they've arrived at 221b, they were soaking wet from the rain. Unlike his older brother Sherlock never uses an umbrella. Thinking about it, neither did John. He feared to miss something when the umbrella blocked his view.  
Sherlock dragged down his coat, his black leather gloves and shoes in the hallway for not ruining the carpet.  
The army doctor followed his example and left his jacket, and shoes there.  
"I will make us some tea." said John entering their kitchen. He set the kettle, put two earl-grey-teabags in two mugs, prepared the sugar for Sherlock and waited till the red light went out. Soon the flat filled with the delicious smell of bergamot. Two spoons sugar for his friend and none for him.  
John handed Sherlock his tea, walked around the armchair and leaned against the window frame.  
He didn't want to sit down, because his jeans were still wet from the rain. Watching the flashing lights blurred by rain racing behind the window, he slowly drank his tea.

When Sherlock finished his tea, he stood up, grabbed his violin, and said: "I promised to play you my new composition."  
"I don't feel like reading, writing or watching telly..so please do." answered the shorter man sill with the tea in his hands. He watched his flatmate putting the instrument to his shoulder, fixing it with his chin, the long pale fingers bending down on the strings and pressing them to the wooden neck of the violin.

The melody started pretty low but with a fast pace.  
 It went a little bit higher and the highest note silenced the whole song down. It felt like the whole theme crashed down and changed to a different, middle high noted very slow score. Sherlock almost didn't let the bow touch the strings and the sound was very gentle.  
John felt it breaking into his mind, making it blank and he could only describe it as desperate...no.. rather hopeless. He felt tears coming up, took a sip from his mug, put it down, stretched and clinched his left hand and looked up to his friend.  
Suddenly the tune changed again. Just few notes slipping in. They were getting louder and pushed the older hopeless melody to the background.  
 It was like the first sunshine after a blizzard. The music still wasn't really happy but it was possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.  
He closed his eyes, smiled and thought, that it didn't need to be cheering and fast.  
This was harmony, acceptance and finally love. It faded away with a slight higher tune. Almost like questioning hope. John didn't open his eyes. It was overwhelming...  
"God Sherlock..this was..ok I'm speechless..how..when"  
"I've started it a while ago and finished it today."  
"This is the best composition I've ever heard from you." said John and opened his eyes, just to see Sherlock standing a lot closer to him than usual. The detective chuckled.  
"What's so funny?"  
"Nothing just...It is a little bit bigheaded of yours to say so."  
"What? That was a compliment to you not me...?!"  
"It is actually for both of us.", answered Sherlock, fixing his gaze on him and added: "It's yours, John. This is how I see you."  
John's eyes widened and everything seemed to fall to its place.

 It's him.

First part was Afghan. The loud and pacing tune of war. The high note was the bullet.  
Then the depression, PTSD and the psychosomatic limp and after this he met Sherlock.  
John looked towards Sherlock again.  
"You have written this for me?"  
"Based on you, about you and for you. Obviously." answered the consulting detective and stepped a little bit closer. John had to look further up than usual, his heartbeat sped up, and the warmth of the close body tickled on his skin demanding to close the small gab between them.  
"I have thought about what you said in the restaurant."  
"And what's your conclusion?"  
"You're right." smiled Sherlock, stretched up his right hand and let it trace John's arm up, gently touching the cotton shirt and the skin under it. The army inhaled sharply, but managed to ask:  
"The last tune of the composition...it felt like a question" the hand was almost on his shoulder, now stopped and dropped back to his hands and almost whispering Sherlock said: "It was a question, but right now more important is your answer..."  
John grabbed his jacked and dragged him into a kiss. It was gentle first kiss. The one which make you want more. Only for a few seconds Sherlock pulled away:  
"I take it as a 'YES' "  
"You better do...took you long enough to ask." John didn't wait for the answer and shut him up with another more demanding, passionate kiss.  
The doctor felt Sherlock's body pressed to his own and a hand grabbing around his waist. _'God that felt good.'_ thought John, although the touch and the kiss still were hesitant. He let his hands slip down away from the jacket, miming Sherlock's hand and pressing him closer.  
Two pairs of lips, trying, demanding.  
Tongues gripping at each other, sliding around, fighting for dominance.  
Every slight move, every change of weight, and every fast inhale before their lips met again send spikes through his nerves. It made his blood rush through his veins, made him aroused and that he felt an equal response from the young detective even increased it.  
John broke their kiss without moving away, just to have enough space to talk.  
"Sherlock?.."  
"John?.."  
"If you want stop...?"  
"Does it feel like I wanted to stop?" asked the taller man with a spark of distress showing in his eyes.  
 _'He thinks he had done something wrong'_ \- "Actually no. I just don't want to push you anywhere you don't want to go..."  
"Obviously I want...so shut up John..And before you ask stupid questions..", he kissed him, "Yes I want to have sex with you."  
"mhmm I want you too." whispered back John, smiling and pressing another passionate kiss to the full lips.  
He leaned back against the window frame, deciding to let Sherlock set the speed, but he must have raised a lot of self discipline, not to push the man down on the floor and fuck him senseless right there on the carpet.

Holmes clearly enjoyed every tender caress: slipping his long fingers under John's shirt, kissing and nipping on every exposed skin and listening to the sounds he gained for it. He started to open the shirt of his army doctor.  
John just tried not to move too much and let him undoing his clothes. His breathing got faster and faster with every undone button. Sherlock put more pressure in his touch with every inch he went down.  
He enjoyed every gasp and he tried what caused John to do it.  
Undoing the last button his hand was just above John's belt. Swiftly he opened it and in the move unzipped the trousers. Returning up to the strip of darker hair on the exposed lower stomach and he let his index finger trace the line of the pants between the cloth and skin.  
John gasped, opened his eyes just as Sherlock moved closer to kiss him. He concentrated on the warm soft lips on his own and the rougher touch of their tongues, when he felt the hand tracing down his abdomen, through his public hair, finally grabbing his engorged member and shooting pleasure through his body.  
The blonde man tilted his head back, falling out from the kiss with a loud moan.  
How many times he had imagined to feel these hands stroking him into oblivion. This was better than he imagined. He bugged his hips into the slowly moving palm, pressing the hand back to Sherlock's own groin.  
The detective breathed out shakily and moaned while he moved his hand out of John's lap.  
John, regaining some control over himself, shook the open shirt from his shoulders and reversed Sherlock's act.  
He opened the jacket and the shirt from bottom towards the pale wonderful neck. Tracing his hands around the distinctive muscles of Sherlock's chest and shoulders, he pushed the unnecessary clothes to the floor.  
Both of them were half naked now and John really considered about continuing right where they were, but decided otherwise. He kissed his lover once more, slipped around him, whispering just one word in his ear:  
"Upstairs" and headed for his room.

In the middle of the stairs Sherlock caught up, grabbed his wrist and around his waist, pushed him against the wall, pressing their lips and bodies together again. John felt a hot wave wash over him, welcoming the other body back.  
He moved his hips without warning and both of them moaned into the others mouth from the brusque friction. Suddenly the heat was gone and John opened his eyes, just to see the detective disappearing in his room.  
John took the steps by two at once and opened his door.  
Looking around, he found Sherlock stretched out on his bed completely naked. He hold his breath while tracing his look down the pale perfect body presented before him. He saw the shutter running through Sherlock's stomach muscles even before he heard him quietly laughing.  
"Don't you tell me you're embarrassed by nudity."  
"No..of course not..you're just.."  
John didn't end the sentence, got on the bed and on top of his favourite detective.  
Desperate to feel each other, their lips met and hands went searching again. Long violinist fingers pulled on the trousers and soon they were forgotten on the floor accompanied by John's boxers.  
Oh how long he wanted to kiss this long muscular neck, which was too often hidden behind a scarf.  
Passionately kissing each other, John let his hand slip into that black locks, groaned at the slight tingling sensation and also because Sherlock's hands found their former position.  
He moaned and let his head fall aside, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin in the sink above the collarbone.  
 Feeling pleasuring heat building up inside of him, he reached down to stop Sherlock's hand.  
Their eyes met and he saw the question in his eyes. John hardly managed to speak, gasping for air:  
"Properly...I want you to." he saw a sparkle lightning up in the gorgeous eyes, just before the young violinist pushed him backwards, so he was on his back and Sherlock on top of him.  
"Really?"  
"Of course. I trust you..In the bed stand." he nodded towards it.  
Sherlock didn't need to hear more, he leaned back and opened the small drawer. The army doctor leaned upwards to lick around the nipples, so striking in contrast with the wonderful pale skin, making the detective gasp. He turned back pushing down the blonde man.  
Flipping the tube of lube in his hands, he kissed John and whispered: "Very handy."  
"Yes I am" chuckled the army doctor, watching Sherlock sliding down his body, while kissing and licking his oversensitive skin. He bit his lower lip, when the soft lips reached his hard cock.  
The young detective let his tongue trace down his shaft and just as he took him in his mouth, a slicked finger pressed through the tight ring of muscles of his entrance.  
A mixed sensation of pain and pleasure shot through his body. John felt the finger slowly pressing into him and when it crooked just in the right place, he arched his back. Sherlock added a second finger and his mouth went further down on John's cock.  
The army doctor moaned shamelessly when his head hit the back of Sherlock's throat.  
"Good god Sherlock...The virgin thing...I don't buy it.. _uhh_..don't stop."  
The muffled laugh vibrated around his cock and drove him insane. Sherlock let go of his member and , without removing his thrusting fingers, he kissed John's chest, neck, lips and answered:  
"Intuition and I read a lot", he moved back down and added a third finger, "Or maybe I just know, because it's you...You know I'm very observing."  
"Fuck" groaned the blonde  
"Exactly what I intend to do." smiled Sherlock against his skin, slowly removing his fingers.  
"Ha..Ha...very funny you tease." said John grabbing the lube from the bed, pressed some of it on his palm and started quickly to slick up Sherlock's hard member.  
The detective's eyes fell shut and a moan escaped his lips. John adored that sound immediately.  
He stopped grasped Sherlock's hips and pressed him down.  
Another moan.  
Opening his eyes, the violinist saw the small reassuring nod and started to push in.  
John whimpered, although he was well prepared, when his lover entered him.  
"Okay?"  
"Just move..please"  
One slow testing thrust into the hot tightness, got Sherlock's breathing to hitch and John's pain eased a little bit.  
Another one and more of it.  
Thin, strong hands grabbed his hips and adjusted the angle. The pain was completely gone, substituted with hot pleasure when Sherlock found the prostate inside his doctor. Seeing the strong reaction, he repeated this thrust, speeding up with every encounter.  
The sound of flesh hitting flesh mixed up with their moans and vibrated through the small air-thick space between their bodies.  
Hands stroking and the other pair clinching to the body above him, almost certainly scratching the pale skin on his back. John felt his release building up like a hot flood inside his body.  
"More..faster" he managed to say before he groaned loudly.  
Sherlock almost unable to coordinate his body, made his thrusts even deeper and faster than before.  
Judging by his eyes, his shallow fast breathing, and the lovely sounds escaping his lips, the young detective was as close as John.  
One..  
Two...  
Shuttering orgasm hit them almost simultaneously, screaming out under the blinding pleasure floated their bodies. Sherlock kissed John slowly and still breathing heavily he sank next to him on the bed.  
  
The army doctor grinned at him.  
"Better than reading? said John turning his head towards his lover. Sherlock switched to his side to face him properly, he ran his hand through John's short hair and answered happily:  
"Clearly yes. From your 'reaction' I can tell it wasn't bad for you either.."  
"How could you ever doubt that, after I've imagined it for weeks...months"  
A surprised look showed on the detective's face:  
"You did?"  
"As if you haven't had noticed...my fast leavings, long showers. No?"  
Sherlock still looked a little bit confused, but smiled at his doctor. John laughed out and kissed him  
"You're a blind idiot."  
Sherlock frowned "I am not a..." a finger on his lips stopped him from talking.  
"Sherlock..shut up." smiled the army doctor climbing on top of him and kissing him again. Their hands touching the other softly.  
He drew back and added: "You know the fantasies, I've just talked about?"  
"ehhmmm...Yes?" the heart shaped lips already distractingly exploring his skin again.  
John got up from the bed, followed by Sherlock's gaze, opened the door.  
He looked back with the most seductive wink one could imagine and added:  
"One of the includes you and me in the shower."  
Slowly he walked out and was soon followed by the young detective.


End file.
